


Non Smoking Flight

by shihadchick



Category: U2
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:27:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shihadchick/pseuds/shihadchick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Claire saw  <a href="http://www.u2images.com/band/allthatyoucant/A_ja01013.jpg">this pic</a> and went *ooh*.  So go look at that first. :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non Smoking Flight

**Author's Note:**

> Am not sure and don't particularly care whether or not they were standing on an actual wing attached to an actual plane. Humour me for the sake of the bunny, ok? *grin* Also, muchas gracias to Joy, for a) showing me the pic and b)helping me with the story.

It was quite obvious that something had gone wrong, because the normally polite and well-mannered photographer had let slip a curse that raised eyebrows on most of his subjects before glaring at his equipment. Edge dropped his quirked-eyebrow, far-gazing pose for a more natural stance of polite interest, and slid carefully off the wing to see if he could offer any assistance.

Bono was still a no-show, so the problem - whatever it was - wasn't exactly a calamity at this stage. They still had a couple of hours. Not, of course, that Larry and Adam were particularly looking forward to spending still more hours out in the chill sunshine of the airfield.

Larry leant back, resting his weight more firmly on his wrists, noting anew that the metal of the aeroplane wing was not as cold as he would have expected. Of course, he'd been sitting like this long enough for his hands to have numbed and stuck to it  
for all he'd notice. Squinting in the reflected glare even with the dark glasses on, he turned his head away from the cockpit, from the curving glass determined by some arcane law of photographers as the desired point for him to focus on. He'd made a crack about how he'd rather focus on the stewardesses, but it had been half-hearted at most, and he'd complied readily, patently wanting to just _get this over._

The wing creaked, tilting a little as Adam's weight moved impatiently from one foot to the other, and Larry felt a faint nervous flicker in his stomach. Oh, sure, they'd been assured that the wing could hold their weight, that the flexing was normal, and not to worry. But the people doing the telling were all safely on the bloody ground, weren't they?

"I'd fucking kill for a smoke," muttered Adam from some point above Larry's head, gazing back at the terminal as if in hope that a pack of cigarettes would materialize from within, replacing the ones Edge had confiscated an hour ago.

"Need the fix?" Larry asked, his head lolling back to look up at his friend, gaze resting briefly on the curve of his jaw, the faint stubble still evident on his face - he'd had to shave in a hurry that morning, and the job had been even more haphazard than usual - before moving up to meet the green eyes Larry knew were hidden behind the violet shades.

A wry grin pulled at the corners of Adam's lips, and he smothered a low chuckle before replying "I'm _bored,_ is what it is. I want something to _do._ We could be here for fucking hours, now..."

Larry's brain was still processing Adam's words, lingering over the expletive, savouring the way it sounded in his mind, in that voice. Watching idly as Edge and the photographer disappeared into the van, looking for god knew what.

And effectively leaving the rhythm section all alone...

Rapid calculations whirred behind guileless blue eyes. How long Edge would be gone. Whether they could - should - even try anything. But the decision was made in less that a second. Because Larry was bored, too. And morning seemed like it had been an eternity ago...

He scooted back up the wing carefully, eyes not leaving Adam's once, and then before he could guess what was happening, one muscled arm darted out, grabbed a callused hand, and pulled the stunned bassist down into his lap.

Adam's arms tightened reflexively around Larry, the drop behind him yawing in his mind and seeming to pull him backwards, but the illusion faded as soon as his balance returned, and he found himself, quite naturally, sprawling over the drummer's lap, their faces mere inches apart.

Adam's eyes narrowed in appreciation. This was normally more his style than Larry's, but... he knew how to play this game, and he wasn't exactly in a position to complain. Especially not with his knees sliding up to straddle the drummer, toes  
digging into the rivets and slots in the wing to hold himself steady; especially not with Larry's leg drawn up against him, pressing into the curve of his ass, encouraging him to lie closer and rest his weight on the willing body below.

Especially not when those firm lips were darting forward with no hesitation, tugging against his, sucking his lower lip into the warmth of his friend's - his lover's - mouth. His lips parted easily, and he murmured appreciatively into Larry's mouth as  
the drummer took the hint, dragging him deeper and deeper into the kiss; the universe narrowing down to that mouth and those lips and that tongue and oh, god, the things that he knew how to do with them...

Adam pulled away for a split second, breaking the kiss, only then realising his left hand was fisted in Larry's hair, keeping him captive in the embrace. His other hand slid up, tossing the sunglasses aside, and neither noticed as they fell to the  
ground, because his fingers were curving around behind one pale ear; setting the charm hanging from the hoop to spinning, thumb stroking the dip where jaw met neck, and heat was spilling through the drummer's skin, a pale flush against wind-chilled  
silk. Larry's eyelids slid closed, and Adam could have sworn he was purring before the bassist tilted his head and moved back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue trailing delicately along the left side of the blonde's jaw and then licking inside his mouth with tiny deliberate flicks.

Barely a moment later Larry surrendered with a sound that was half-growl, half-moan; drawing Adam down to lie flush against him by the simple expedient of twisting a handful of his friend's shirt around his fingers and _tugging._

Adam sank into him readily, his mouth warm and wet against Larry's, body impossibly close now, and aching to be closer; to feel naked flesh against naked flesh, to be inside the other's skin, to immolate in glorious heat and rise renewed.

Forgetting for a moment exactly _where_ they were, Larry slid back, Adam's weight throwing his balance off just enough that his head hit the wing with an audible thud.

Larry swore with feeling, instinctively rubbing his head. Adam, braced above him, barely avoided knocking his forehead into Larry's, and the expression as he looked at him now could only be described as unholy glee.

Larry caught the grin and scowled.

"What's _your_ problem? That fucking hurt, Sparks."

"You're so cute when you're pouting."

Larry scowled even more fiercely. "I don't pout."

"If you say so." Adam was content to leave the matter there, bending his head again to nip at Larry's lips, but the other merely glared unresponsively at him, implacability evident in every line of his body.

Adam grinned unrepentantly and tugged Larry's shirt up a little, dragging his nails over the curve of hip and along his side. Larry shuddered, and glared.

"That was unfair and you damned well know it..." Trampling his intended point somewhat, Larry reached for Adam again, drawing out contented little moans from the back of his throat as they kissed; greedy little mewling sounds that he'd deny later.

Neither heard the deliberate cough from twenty feet below, or the hissed request of their attention. The pair of sunglasses that flew up to smack into the back of Adam's head did do the trick, however, and with one last kiss the two men lazily  
disentangled themselves, Larry's hands reluctantly slipping away from Adam's back, leaving them sitting chastely beside each other, looking down over the ailerons at the guilty party.

"God, I leave the two of you alone for ten minutes and you decide to give him a fucking lap dance..." Edge shook his head in mock-dismay, laughing as Adam flipped him a graceful middle finger salute.

"Adam, how d'you feel about going for a smoke?" Larry asked, emphasising the last word just a touch, suiting action to words and clambering down the ladder off the wing and stalking towards the terminal without a backwards glance.

Adam followed him down the ladder, voicing quiet agreement, his longer legs enabling him to catch up within a few steps, and as the two of them disappeared, only the keenest of observers would have seen his fingers curl around the drummer's  
waistband, silently urging him to walk faster with an insistent tug.

And Edge was left standing by the aeroplane, one hand in his pocket, playing idly with the pack of cigs he'd confiscated earlier and grinning...


End file.
